Hey, guy. I’m sorry about your night last night. If it’s any consolation, everyone in VF.com’s election-night War Room agreed you looked really, really hot. “I’m sorry, but look at his face,” I shouted at a wine glass and some colleagues who had previously said they find you creepy and Patrick Bateman–like. We all looked at the television. There was simply no counterpoint. “No, I mean, yeah,” said one co-worker. And all we could do was gaze.

I’ve really enjoyed our one-sided, long-distance, Web-only relationship these past few months. I have not only learned a lot about your this past year—for example, I can tell your brothers apart and I figured out which 2002 Celebrity Boxing participating your brother Tagg looks like (it’s Joey Buttafuoco)—but I learned a lot about myself. I think depending on the exact degrees of the obtuse angle of his jawline, I could be O.K. with dating a man who doesn’t drink alcohol or coffee. What would we, like, do? I don’t know. But I have the rest of my life to figure it out.

I also want to take this opportunity to apologize to your wife, about whom I’ve said some unkind and, frankly, unfair things. I don’t know her, but judging from Google Image she seems like a very. . . goyishe person. I hope you two are very happy together—as happy as two highly angular gentiles who don’t drink, smoke, or curse can be, I guess.

And if you ever change your mind about your family, your political beliefs, or your religion—any of the things you hold most dear, really—let me know.